Aggravation
by acertainphilosophy
Summary: Killua and Milluki have always had problems, and they usually end with at least one person getting hurt. *note: Takes place approx. three years before canon.


One-shot

The whip sliced through the air and a sharp snap echoed throughout the large cobblestoned dungeon as it met its mark. There was no scream. There was no recognition of any pain at all. The pale, thin form swayed on the heavy chains from the force of the blow, back and forth like a pendulum until the momentum was lost and the figure was still again. The sound had not quite finished its resounding snap before the thick rope swung back for another strike. It halted as it was brought back to its fullest reach, seemingly weightless. It was not hesitance. The thing gave the impression that it was relishing in what it was about to do, savoring the moment before inflicting the pain. Then it came forward in swift diligence, and found its mark again.

The wan figure hung from the wall by thick, creaky chains and shackles that nearly obscured the tiny hands and ankles. It hung like a ragdoll, devoid of voluntary motion. Any ordinary onlooker would think it lifeless, by the limp stature, the painfully skinny limbs and exposed chest, the paper white skin. Skin that was riddled with long and deep slashes, electric burns and countless other unnamable marks. The sight was unnerving, especially as young as the body looked. The whip was resting after yet another laceration had been put upon the pale skin, crossing the chest and right arm.

Then his head rose. He looked out at his torturer with intelligent ice blue eyes, and a small pout playing on his lips. A cut above his right eye left a trail of drying blood down the side of his face, and his snowy white hair was disheveled and matted with more of the stuff. He was a sorry sight.

"Oi, Milluki. Are you done yet?" When he spoke, his voice was clear and sharp.

The older, fatter boy in the chamber jumped and nearly dropped his whip at the sound. He was quick to recover and tried to hide his unease with a puffed out chest (that was already plenty big to begin with) and an ugly sneer.

"Not yet, Kil. You haven't finished repaying me for what you did."

"That was actually pretty funny, bro. But I'll say sorry, anyway, if you want."

The older sibling cringed and lashed out in anger with his weapon. The broad side of it slapped hard against the small boy's ribcage, but his face remained neutral. The lack of reaction only made the oppressor even more furious. He swung the whip around again and again, always managing to hit some of the boy's already marred skin.

"Never, Never, Never!" he cried out in rage with each lash. The dank chamber filled with the sound of his chant and the snapping of the whip and the creaking of the chains as they swung with each blow and were forced in a different direction before reaching full tilt. As loud as it was, it was assured that no sound went past the walls of the dungeon. They were thick and tough, built that way purposely in order to contain the screams of the poor souls who ended up there, or to keep any commotion, such as the clamor that went on at this time, from disturbing the rest of the family. The latter was more common, really. It was not the first time a member of the same household had spilt blood against those stone walls. Funnily enough, the aggressor was also usually part of the family as well.

The fat boy came up to his sibling. He reached up and grabbed the boy's hair, as if to make him look at him better. The move was pointless, however, because the white haired boy had already been looking straight at him with a deadpan gaze, too cool for family. The older boy continued as if the younger had been terrified. In his mind, he was the one in control, the one with the power and the fear of his enemies. He had been horrified that the power was not his after all, but the session of quick slashes gave him an adrenaline rush and reassured him of his position.

"Listen to me, Kil. You will not _ever_ do anything to me again. And you will apologize immediately. Understand? Huh? WELL?" He worked himself up as he went along, pulling the younger boy's hair back and bringing their faces closer together, so that spittle flew across the boy's face when he yelled.

The boy met this with the same unconcerned gaze. As much as Milluki would like to believe it, he did not have any of the same sway as the other brother did over the boy's actions.

"Well, I will say sorry, bro. So sorry."

The fat boy leaned back with a triumphant grin on his face, reveling in the moment of victory.

"But I can't make any promises about what I'll do in the future, bro," the boy continued. The fat one blinked, registering what had been said. Then his face contorted into a snarl.

"What did you say?"

The power was gone. It had never been his.

"Well, bro, it's just that it's so funny to see you all worked up about this stuff that it's completely worth a few scratches." He waved at the decimating injuries covering his body as if they were a couple paper cuts, the hand motion only slightly restricted by the heavy shackles.

"Especially if it's over stuff like a burning plastic doll."

The larger boy screamed in frustration.

"It was a collectible figurine, one of two in the world! It's _not funny_!"

"Hilarious."

That was all it took to send the older boy into a fit, stomping around the room and running his hands madly through his hair.

The white haired child slid down from the shackles and landed coolly on both feet. He walked past his brother and out of the room, calmly popping the joints of his hands back into the right places. The door slammed shut with eerie finality behind him.

He thought it might be fun to tear up some computer disks.

**-philos **


End file.
